The Monster and His Queen

Chapter4

"She needs to die before the wedding."

Elaria froze outside the council room door. The voice belonged to someone inside, but she couldn't tell who. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure they could hear it through the thick wood.

"That's too obvious," another voice said. This one she recognized Lord Marek, one of her father's closest advisors. "If the Northern princess dies here, they'll call it an act of war."

"Then make it look like an accident," the first voice insisted. "A fall down the stairs. Bad food. Illness. I don't care how it happens, but that girl cannot marry the shadow prince."

Elaria's hands shook. She should run. She should tell someone. But her feet wouldn't move.

"And what about the mark on her wrist?" Marek asked. "The servants are talking. They say she's already been touched by his darkness."

"All the more reason to act quickly. Before she becomes one of them completely."

Footsteps moved toward the door. Elaria finally found her legs and ran, her silk slippers silent on the marble floors. She didn't stop until she reached her chambers, slamming the door and locking it behind her.

Martha looked up from folding clothes, her wrinkled face creasing with concern. "Child? What's wrong? You're white as milk."

"Someone wants to kill me." The words came out in a rush. "Before the wedding. I heard them talking. They said—" Her voice broke.

Martha dropped the dress she was holding and pulled Elaria into her arms. "Hush now. Tell me everything you heard."

Elaria repeated the conversation, her voice shaking. When she finished, Martha's expression had turned grim.

"This is worse than I thought," the old woman muttered. She went to the door, checked that it was locked, then pulled Elaria to the far corner of the room. "Listen to me carefully. There are people in this court who don't want this marriage to happen. They fear what an alliance with the North will mean. They fear the shadow prince's power."

"But why kill me? Why not just break the betrothal?"

"Because your father won't break it. He wants the Northern army too badly. The only way to stop this wedding is to make sure there's no bride." Martha gripped Elaria's shoulders. "You can't trust anyone here. Not the guards, not the servants, not even your own family."

"What about Saphira? She wouldn't—"

"Your sister is too young to protect you. And your mother..." Martha shook her head sadly. "Your mother learned long ago not to fight your father. She'll do nothing."

Elaria felt tears building. "So I'm alone?"

"Not entirely." Martha pulled back the sleeve of her dress, revealing a mark on her forearm that looked like twisted vines. It glowed faintly in the dim light. "I told you I once studied with priestesses. What I didn't tell you is that I was marked by old magic. Shadow magic. That's why I've always served your family—I was watching, waiting to see if any of you would need protection from the darkness."

"You're like Draven?"

"Not quite. My magic is older, quieter. But yes, I carry darkness inside me." Martha covered the mark again. "And I can teach you to protect yourself. The mark on your wrist it's not just a bond. It's power. You need to learn to use it before someone uses it against you."

A knock on the door made them both jump.

"Princess Elaria?" A male voice called. "Your father requests your presence in his study."

Elaria and Martha exchanged worried looks.

"Tell him I'll be there shortly," Elaria called back, keeping her voice steady.

The footsteps retreated. Martha grabbed a small bottle from her pocket and pressed it into Elaria's hand.

"What is this?"

"Protection. If anyone offers you food or drink that you don't trust, put three drops of this in it. If the liquid turns black, it's poisoned. If it stays clear, it's safe." Martha's eyes were fierce. "And remember trust no one but yourself. And maybe that shadow prince of yours. He might be cursed, but at least he's been honest about it."

Elaria tucked the bottle into her dress pocket and headed toward her father's study. The hallways seemed longer than usual, darker. Every servant she passed could be an enemy. Every guard could be waiting for the right moment.

Her father's study was at the top of the west tower. By the time she reached it, her legs ached and her heart raced. She knocked twice.

"Enter."

King Zarek sat behind his massive desk, papers spread before him. He didn't look up when she came in.

"You wanted to see me, Father?"

"Sit." He gestured to the chair across from him.

Elaria sat, her back straight, hands folded in her lap. The perfect princess.

Finally, her father looked at her. His eyes were cold, calculating. "I've received word from the Northern Territories. Prince Draven and his party have begun their journey back. They'll arrive in five days."

"I see."

"The wedding will take place immediately upon their arrival. We can't afford delays." He leaned forward. "Tell me, Elaria. Are you having second thoughts about this marriage?"

It was a trap. She could feel it. "No, Father. I understand my duty."

"Good. Because there are those who believe you're not suitable for this match. They say you're too soft, too weak. That you'll embarrass our kingdom when you fail to please your husband." His words were sharp as knives. "I told them you wouldn't fail. You won't disappoint me, will you?"

"No, Father."

"Excellent." He returned to his papers, dismissing her without another word.

Elaria stood and walked to the door. Her hand was on the handle when her father spoke again.

"Oh, and Elaria? Stay in your rooms tonight. Don't go wandering. For your own safety, of course."

She turned back, searching his face for any hint of care or concern. There was none.

"Of course, Father."

Back in her chambers, Elaria found Saphira waiting for her. Her sister jumped up from the window seat, her young face bright with excitement.

"Finally! I've been waiting forever. Tell me everything about last night. Did the prince kiss you? Did he say anything romantic?"

Elaria wanted to tell her sister about the danger, about the plot to kill her. But Martha was right Saphira was too young, too innocent. She couldn't protect her, and knowing might put her in danger too.

"He was... different than I expected," Elaria said carefully.

"Different good or different bad?"

"I don't know yet."

Saphira pouted. "You're no fun. I thought having a betrothed would make you more interesting." She bounced on the bed. "Oh! I almost forgot. Mother wants you to have tea with her tomorrow. She said it's important."

"Did she say why?"

"No, but she looked sad when she asked. You know how she gets that look? Like she wants to say something but can't?"

Elaria knew that look well. It was her mother's permanent expression.

"I'll go see her."

Saphira stayed for another hour, chattering about court gossip and the dresses she wanted for the wedding. When she finally left, Elaria locked the door behind her and checked every window. The sun was setting, painting the sky blood red.

She pulled out the bottle Martha had given her and studied it in the fading light. Such a small thing to stand between her and death.

A sound made her spin around. The shadows in the corner were moving, shifting. Her heart jumped into her throat.

Then Draven stepped out of the darkness itself, his amber eyes glowing softly.

"How did you—" Elaria gasped. "You're supposed to be five days away!"

"I was. Then I felt something." He touched his chest. "Here. Like fear. Your fear." He crossed the room in three long strides. "What happened?"

Elaria's breath came fast. Part of her wanted to throw herself into his arms. Part of her wanted to scream at him for sneaking into her room. But mostly, she was just relieved not to be alone.

"Someone wants to kill me," she whispered.

Draven's expression went deadly cold. The temperature in the room dropped. Shadows began creeping up the walls.

"Tell me everything," he said, his voice like iron wrapped in silk. "And tell me who. I'll tear them apart."